


Sun-kissed Canvas

by izuchi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Akaashi wears makeup, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bokuto is a street artist, First Meetings, Fluff, Kinda cheesy kinda introspective, M/M, Meet-Cute, Self Confidence, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izuchi/pseuds/izuchi
Summary: Keiji thought that soulmates should be impossible, but the universe proved to him time and time again how that wasn't the case. Over the years, brush strokes of vibrant paint tickled and bled across his skin, and given more time, he learned how to cover them up.Or a mixed bag soulmate AU in which one type of connection revolves around having whatever temporary marks that get absorbed into your skin be mirrored on your soulmate. Here we have Bokuto Koutarou, a rogue street artist, and Akaashi Keiji, someone who’s just tired of being stared at. Under differing layers of makeup and paint, the two of them inadvertently dance around one another until finally falling in together. Quite literally.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157
Collections: HQ Mini Bang, My favorite haikyuu fics





	Sun-kissed Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I haven't posted a Haikyuu fic in years but I did this for the HQ Mini Bang! This fic has gorgeous art to accompany it done by Alex [[Tumblr](https://plutopeppers.tumblr.com/) | [IG](https://www.instagram.com/plutopeppers/)] and Lily [[Tumblr](https://cmajalis.tumblr.com/) | [[Twitter](https://twitter.com/cmajalisLily) | [[AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmajalis/pseuds/cmajalis)], please check them out! This fic was also beta'd by the lovely [Chelsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaCaelum). 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Soulmates should be impossible, Keiji thought.

How was it that somewhere out there in the world, there was another soul perfectly matched to you?

People changed on the daily. Sometimes it was so subtle a blink would have you missing it, other times, it was like watching a brand new person come to light. So then how could it be possible to have a perfect mirror—a perfect foil to everything you did?

To some it was a gift, the brightest aspect of their dreary days. Coming home to someone whose arms melded against their form as perfectly as the sky meeting the sea.

To others, however, the idea of soulmates was a cruel and fickle thing. Not everyone had a soulmate to begin with, left alone to wonder if their soul was not good enough for love, and feeling mocked by the scant few that had several partners. Even then, those that were blessed with a fated connection had no guarantee of completing themselves, often lowered into their graves still wondering.

Maybe next time. Next time they would be luckier.

* * *

Keiji was a bright kid. But no amount of intelligence could make him put unfounded faith in the flimsy idea of soulmates. 

His parents weren’t marked to each other in any way, and they were happy. He knew his mother didn’t have a soulmate, and yet she was perfectly content, perfectly _complete_ , with her family at her side. His father on the other hand _did_ have a soulmate. One that crumbled through the cracks of romance into peaceful platonic bliss. An old friend, as it were. Though one he no longer knows.

To him that was proof enough that one didn’t need a soulmate to be happy. But Keiji _was_ marked, or rather, was _continuously_ marked.

The connection between soulmates, romantic or otherwise, showed itself in many different forms. Telepathic links, matching mystical tattoos, the loss of colour in the world until your fated one’s eyes were the first thing to brighten.

But Keiji? Well, he didn’t entirely understand what his connection was. But his parents knew that when they saw different splatters of neon paint across his young chubby fists, when they had no paint to begin with, was sign enough.

As a family, they didn’t speak about Keiji’s soulmate much. He was too young to fully comprehend what that meant for him, but old enough to know he was happy with or without it. He felt no added warmth from seeing the paint and ink smears set deep within his skin, and he felt no more or less complete with the knowledge that there was another out there for him.

Things always change as you get older, though. And not always for the better.

It happened back in middle school.

It had been a rather mundane day as far as his recollection reached. Sun shining in through the half shuttered windows, setting alight the dust in the room like blinking fireflies. Young kids chatted back and forth in the hall, with a giggle here and squeak of sneakers on linoleum there. There were shouts to be heard from the green field that lay beyond the classroom window, as a soccer ball was kicked with great fervor. 

Within the classroom the teacher droned on, chalk clicking methodically and meticulously against the board that was in major need of a cleaning. Keiji was placed in the middle back of the room, sitting tall yet lax in his stuffy school uniform. 

The chatting continued. Another shout from the green was heard. The teacher grabbed for the eraser.

Then silence.

Keiji blinked. Eyes opening to find many pairs staring back at him. He gulped.

Not a moment later, the classroom erupted in a flurry. Many of the girls, with their pigtails tied tightly, began to giggle and coo. A whisper spread amongst them, bubbling, growing, as some of the boys began to laugh. A kid from the front pointed right at him. He doesn’t remember what was said, only the sharp quip of his teacher as he quickly excused himself from the classroom.

It wasn’t until later, with shame burning high in his cheeks, that he noticed why everyone had been gawking at him. As nestled underneath his left brow, ran a streak of bright yellow that only ended at his opposite cheek. The colour was opaque, thick, and upon closer inspection he could see the faint trails of it running down the crook of his eyes and nose, perfectly tear shaped. How ironic.

This was the most brazen his supposed soulmate had ever been. Keiji bristled, the embarrassment of being stared at so openly still fresh in his mind. Did they ever think about what their theatrics did to the person on the other end of the line?

But then, Keiji remembered that he was ostentatiously neat. He never left marks on his own skin, and would quickly wash off any accidents to keep his hands clean.

Maybe, his soulmate just didn’t know.

* * *

Keiji had learned very young to keep his emotions under wraps.

The staring and gossiping didn’t stop after that one fateful day, and neither did the familiar heat that dripped sickly slow down from the base of Keiji’s skull. But he kept his face impassive, smiles small, and heart close to himself. He didn’t allow his composure to break, even when the gossiping turned from _W_ _hat an obnoxious soulmate_ to _Is he wearing makeup?_

Because yes, Akaashi Keiji was indeed wearing makeup.

It started with just enough foundation and powder to cover any potential errant marks that were starting to grow in frequency. He hated being stared at. But the flat face made him feel drab and dulled the enticing green of his eyes. So he began to throw in some colour. It was all faint, really, nothing special. He never had the confidence to wear bold colours like the women, and few men, he saw in magazines and online.

Naturally, that didn’t last very long. Graduating highschool and entering University had struck a chord of confidence down his spine. Soulmate or not, annoying paint or not, Keiji was beginning to like himself, and how he looked.

And he had to admit, he looked damn good with a smokey eye.

* * *

Today was not a day unlike others Keiji had lived before. Tucked away in his apartment, he roused to the soft jingling of his 8 AM alarm. The notes beckoned him forth innocently, then turned annoying as their incessant chiming didn't stop. A grouse split the otherwise silent air, and an arm left the safety of a down blanket to jam it off. Only when silence filled the space once more did Keiji sit up.

His mornings were monotonous by now, but it was a comforting routine. The warm pads of his bare feet quietly _thumped_ on the wood floor, chilled by hours of night air flowing in from the open window, as he stood. There was a gentle creak under his foot as he slid along and suddenly, he wasn’t alone.

A gentle pitter-patter could be heard from down the hall, gaining in speed until suddenly someone small and soft was eagerly brushing up against the skin of his shin.

“‘Morning, Mikan.” Keiji’s soft voice broke into a wide and unbidden yawn. He took a moment to wipe at the moisture desperately trying to squeeze its way out of his eyes, before leaning down slightly, his lithe fingers scritching between two orange ears.

Almost instantly, a deep rumble could be heard and Keiji laughed, soft and sleepy. He’d take that as a _good morning_ , in return.

Together, the two of them made their way to the small ensuite, Mikan curling and weaving around Keiji’s legs all the while. He would have tripped, if this didn’t happen everyday.

Mikan waited patiently for him outside of the bathroom as he flicked on the overhead light, casting amber shadows across the pale walls of the room. His reflection greeted him above the sink, as it always did, though there was always something a little different to surprise him.

Part of Keiji’s routine has been to survey the expanse of his arms, hands, and high cheekbones, looking for any streaks of colour. There were days where he would find nothing but smooth cream skin, the only marks being his natural blemishes. Other days, a litany of colour would seep across him. It had the look of faded tattoos, emanating from some place deep within him. Some place that couldn’t be quantified by physical means. 

Today, there was a soft splatter of peacock blue underneath his eye, seeming to wink at him.

With a huff, Keiji continued with his morning. He finished washing up and pulled out his makeup supplies. Giving thanks to time, experience, and most importantly money, it was a rather quick affair. He returned to Mikan when he finished, eyelids blinking a familiar deep blue.

Over the years, Keiji has had plenty of time to think about his soulmate, but has learned next to nothing. They had to be an artist, there was no doubt about that. But sharing any other knowledge seemed to be blocked through their mystical connection.

They had exchanged hello’s once or twice, the black ink smearing on Keiji’s inner wrist. He had tried to write, _Hello. My name is Akaashi Keiji,_ and received no response. Once, when he was much younger, he even scrawled, _Can you stop covering yourself in paint?!_ Naturally, it didn’t go through. 

It was worth a shot, he supposed. But things would happen as they were meant to, if they happened at all.

The rest of the early morning inched by at a warm snail’s pace. Mikan was fed first, him second, and last he tended to the ample plants that seem to have taken up almost every empty surface in his apartment. 

Fingers curled around a spray bottle, Keiji stood by the wide window in his living room. He spritzed his plants dutifully and absentmindedly as he watched the world wake up around him.

Below his apartment was the sprawl of downtown. A small green park was wedged between two different residential complexes, and one street full of artisanal market shops. Every so often, street performers and vendors would flood the plaza, taking advantage of the crowds and lovely weather.

There are a few regulars that Keiji took note of day by day, having the perfect view from his balcony. There was a violinist that dropped by on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She took requests, as far as Keiji could tell, so the music that drifted up to him was always different, new, and sweet. At least once a week there was a trio of singers that sang cheesy English songs, much to the elation of the crowd who likely didn’t even understand the words.

Then there was the street artist.

Keiji would be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally waltz out on his balcony to watch him in particular. The way the artist set himself up, just at the corner of the market, gave Keiji a full view of all his canvases and prints, chaotically realistic and beautiful. Paint buckets and spray cans were littered at his feet, covering most of a very battered looking tarp. There were paint rollers, brushes, and even stencils stacked haphazardly at each corner, looking very much like a tornado had blown through an art supply store.

He never saw much of the man himself. Sometimes, when he wasn’t working, Keiji would see his animated arm flails as he interacted with passersby. Bouts of raucous laughter was also common, floating up three stories to Keiji with tinny sounding joy. It would make him smile, a little, but he’d admit that to no one.

As Keiji moved along to his next set of plants, he caught what the artist was painting.

It was a bouquet of blue wild flowers.

* * *

Another day, another morning of paint, another brush dipped into his own palette.

This time, Keiji surrounded his eyes with forest greens and flecks of charming glitter. It caught on the light, highlighting the similarly coloured depth of his eyes. He finished the look with a soft swipe of lip balm over his lips, adding no colour, yet highlighting their softness.

He hazarded a smile at his own reflection, feeling a spark of pride deep in his chest at what he saw.

He looked good, he felt good.

If Keiji was more one for vanity, he’d be eagerly grabbing for his phone to take a picture, documenting his job well done. But as it stood, he was more than satisfied simply acknowledging his own accomplishment. He didn’t care for the added eyes, attention, and flimsy validation.

Mikan chose that moment to meow deeply, stretching two paws forward across the bathroom threshold. She came out of her stretch with something akin to a bow, and raised her fuzzy little head to stare imploringly up at Keiji. They held eye contact for a moment, then she blinked twice, and scampered off.

Well. Mikan’s opinion mattered to him, too, even if he couldn’t quite discern what it was.

With a soft shrug of one shoulder, Keiji continued on with his morning as usual, before getting ready to head to work.

At the moment, Keiji worked at a flower shop directly across the green plaza and nestled a few blocks deeper into the downtown sprawl. It stood between two much larger buildings, with a crooked overhanging sign labelled Fuyu Flower Market, chipping paint along the front walls, and rustic decorations laid out front. It was, for all intents and purposes, very cozy. But the ambient atmosphere, and the speciality handcrafted vases they sold as well, gathered quite the bustling 

Keiji enjoyed it thoroughly. It was easy work where he was appreciated by coworkers and customers alike. It allowed him to relax in his own element, bones settling comfortably as his lungs filled with the scent of wet earth and florals.  
  


The comfort he felt surrounding himself with plants even spurred him on to study a minor level of botany on the side of his University studies. It was a bit hellish, considering his main area of study was media and photography, but it was surprisingly fulfilling. All the late deadlines, hours of agonizing over assignments, and coffee at 4AM had certainly paid off.

Keiji liked hard and genuine work. His friends were much the same, and he found himself flourishing in their presence as their little brood graduated and moved on to brighter skies.

Since then, his days consisted of working full time at the flower shop with the occasional photography gig on the side. He saw his friends often, spent ample amounts of time with his face burrowed in the soft fur of Mikan’s fluffy belly, and people watched from his balcony. Slowly but surely, spending time on his balcony was becoming one of his favourite activities.

He wouldn’t name why.

Nowadays, the painter in the plaza would face the sun earlier and earlier. A few times, Keiji had the chance to get an even closer look as he briskly walked across the green to get to Fuyu’s. It seemed that, despite all the artist’s theatrics with onlookers, he was settling down for the long hall now.

There was an even larger amount of paint cans surrounding his jumpy feet, a large brush in hand, and _somehow_ a large streak of green paint was resting on the back of his shirt. Amongst the clutter there were also what looked to be a flurry of papers; blueprints, reference images, and notes. 

Upon the wall behind him stood the very early stages of a mural. White paint filled the gaps between bricks, with the faint colour of coffee outlining what looked to be an owl in flight.

It was mesmerizing, already, and Keiji couldn’t hold back the spark of joy the mural was bringing to him, and let himself smile freely.

He loved owls.

* * *

Weeks passed in much the same way they had before. 

The stark difference was the slowly progressing mural.

Keiji welcomed the change, a bubble of eagerness slowly floating up his chest each morning. As much as he wanted to see the finished piece, it was almost more exciting to watch how the mural grew and changed day by day. He’d see it on his way to work, and layers upon layers of new colour would greet him on his way home.

The setting sun at that hour always seemed to catch the blossoming owl just right. Setting the earthy browns and creamy whites alight in a warm glow. Even the shadows of nearby buildings could not dampen the attention that the mural called to itself. It wasn’t even done yet, and it was such a marvel.

Almost every day the artist would be there, seemingly from dawn till dusk, alternating between blessing the owl with new feathers, or completing small paintings for passing children.

Never coming any closer, nor really having the time to, Keiji simply continued to admire the artwork from afar. He wasn’t shy exactly, but something about engaging with the artist seemed daunting. He couldn’t quite place it.

Though he definitely couldn’t quite mistake the occasional feeling of eyes on the back of his neck as he passed by in the mornings. It wasn’t the sickly feeling that accompanied the stares and jeers of children, but something _unsure_ still dripped down his spine, trying to find a home there.

He tried to pay it no mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d been stared at for one reason or another, after all. But the uncertainty managed to slither it’s way into his gut, soft, faint, but on edge.

Absently, Keiji rubbed at a spot of cream coloured paint on his inner wrist.

* * *

“You should come visit again soon, Shirofuku.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice. I think Komi and Konoha wanted to do a group outing next, though. To see the new cafe that just opened up.”

Keiji had the phone tucked up to his ear, fingers idly running along the sides of it as he listened to Shirofuku’s signature sweet drawl. A small sigh pittered it’s way up his throat, and he sank further into his plush couch. From the blankets swathed in his lap, a faint _mrrpth_ echoed up at his movement.

“That would be nice, I’m sure.” He hummed, soft, considering. “But none of you have seen the mural by my apartment yet. I know youwould love it for sure. Suzumeda would too, if you could convince her to come.”

At the mention of her soulmate, a fond giggle tittered across the line. The corner’s of Keiji’s lips lifted up in a smile.

“You know how she is. Work keeps her busy.” Her tone seemed to be a bit forlorn, but with the lazy cadence of it, it was easy to miss. Keiji knew her though, and knew her well, so he didn’t miss it at all. Being lab partners in high school would do that to you. “Buuuuut.” This time Shirofuku’s voice lilted up, up, up, and a resigned sigh was already clinging to the back of his tongue.

“But, what?” He huffed, his fingers gently twirling the fur behind Mikan’s ear. It twitched.

“Buuut. I’m sure you could convince her to step away for a while. If you did our makeup again.”

There it was. Honestly, Keiji wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t even upset, either. He enjoyed doing makeup for his friends, especially Shirofuku and Suzumeda who would often crowd into his small bathroom, eyelashes batting and lips pulled into a grin when he was done.

He just wished they didn’t use it as a bargaining chip as often as they did.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Keiji huffed again, exasperated yet warm. He could never say no to those two, no matter what. Shirofuku had been there for him through a lot, and he was very thankful to her. Suzumeda, he had only met more recently, but seeing how close the two girls were, how naturally they would fall into step together, hands twining in a way that looked easier than breathing, was a breath of fresh air.

It gave him a bit of faith, if he was being honest.

“Great! Thanks, Akaashi. It’ll be fun.”

“No need to thank me. And I do really want you to see that mural, after all.”

“It’s not finished yet, right?” She paused and he nodded. It took another moment of quiet flustering for Keiji to hum in approval. Oops. “Let me know when it’s done, then. Unless you want me to scope out the artist, hmmm?”

Her voice was dripping with suggestion and he bit back a groan.

“Shirofuku. Just because my soulmate may be an artist, doesn’t mean each one I see could be it.” Honestly, they’d had this conversation before, through school fairs and gallery trips. She had been floored when she heard about the new visitor to the plaza below.

One he hadn’t seen in a while, actually. His smile eased down then, momentarily distracted. He rarely saw the artist away from his street gig and latest masterpiece and it was strange with him gone. The sidewalk seemed emptier, and civilians gave his normal set up a wide berth as they walked around the corner, seemingly used to it being occupied.

That hollowness reminded him faintly of how sometimes for days or even weeks on end, he would see nothing on himself, like now, for instance. No colour, no ink. Just bare skin winking back at him.

Keiji knew he wasn’t the biggest soulmate enthusiast around. But the occasional lack of activity that he had grown so accustomed to, had learned to live around, was more than a little worrying. Eventually though, the colour would always return.

One brush stroke at a time.

“I knowwww, Akaashi.” Shirofuku’s half whine pulled him right back to where he was. He blinked, sat up a little further, and dug his hand deeper into Mikan’s long fur, between the shoulder blades this time. The sun was starting to set outside, the golden light streaming in through the wide open window. It almost made Mikan glow.

“Another but?” He prompted, letting his head sink backwards against the cushion.

She giggled. “Yes but. I think you should still try talking to them. Talking to people is nice, especially if you see them all the time. It wouldn’t hurt anyways.”

“I guess I could try.” He hummed, somewhat amused. She wasn’t wrong, but it was sweet to hear her so determined.

It was then that he heard some shuffling through the phone. Shirofuku’s voice pulled away as the smooth mumble of it was directed elsewhere. There was a giggle, than another. More shuffling crackled over before her voice came back to him.

“That was Kaori, she just got home. I’ll catch you later, Akaashi.”

“See you, Shirofuku.”

With that, he heard the telltale bubble drop of the call being ended. Pulling the phone away, he set it on the arm of the couch and rubbed at the warm spot it left on the side of his head. Just how long were he and Shirofuku talking for anyways?

Perhaps it was time for dinner soon. The sun was even lower in the sky now, it’s last amber rays dipping between the buildings. Mikan was no longer glowing, but looked softer than normal all coddled up in the throw blanket in his lap.

Dinner could wait, he resigned himself and dropped his other hand to join in the pile of fur for scritches. But through the motion something caught his eye.

Spreading from his knuckles to his wrist was a splash of watery blue paint. The first mark in well over a week.

Keiji let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in this whole time.

* * *

Finally, the mural has been completed.

Keiji heard the commotion first before he saw it. A cacophony of cheers and clapping filtering up through the open window as he was blearily pouring out Mikan’s food first thing in the morning. 

He blinked slowly a few times and carefully slid the bag of cat food along the laminate counter, before toeing his way over to the window. It didn’t offer the same glorious view that his balcony did, but his breath caught all the same.

Fabric was rumpled on the ground around the base of the brick building, likely a curtain, that had just been ripped off to reveal the artwork hidden underneath. The artist stood off to the side, bouncing energy alight with happiness and pride. He was working on small scribbled paintings, it seemed, and handing them out to anyone who wanted one. 

Keiji couldn’t see from this distance, but he thought the artist was smiling.

Behind him, flew the most marvelous owl he had ever seen. The distance blurred the details of the painting together, but the vibrant use of natural and unnatural colours was jaw dropping enough. Light streaks of pinks, blues, and oranges crested the tips of the bird’s feathers, highlighting it with a faint technicolour oil spill effect.

Keiji could feel his own smile tugging at his lips, and he regretfully stepped away from the window. He needed to see the mural up close and the bubbling urge inside was mounting for him to do it _now_. Mikan was still crunching somewhere off to his right, he hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet. But—

He felt so compelled to go immediately. A tug, something beckoning him forth. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was a very hard urge to ignore. So he didn’t. Thank the gods that today of all days coincided with his day off from work.

It was like fate, or something. But that was silly. 

First, he stopped at the bathroom, easily scooping a makeup palette up as his feet tapped with barely contained energy against the chilled tile floor. Lately, a lot of his looks have been filled with creams, white highlights, and the deep colour of coffee, reminiscent of one very familiar horned owl. He pulled the colours together in an elegant smokey eye, finishing it with a touch of coppery glitter.

For a few, achingly long moments, he had to dab extra concealer at a stubborn smear of sky blue paint under his left nostril. At least, the rest of his face looked good.

Keiji shuffled his way into the darkness of his room, the chill of early morning in his bones starting to ease slowly as the sun climbed higher beyond his curtain shuttered window. Warmth permeated in, the sound of life carrying with it. Birds chirped eagerly, and the lazy din of springtime bugs cut through like nature’s hi hat.  
  
It was going to be a warm day, he could tell.

And so he pulled on a dark turtleneck, naturally, though a sleeveless one. It was a completely pointless article of clothing, but more comfortable than it had any right to be. The angles it cut into Keiji’s waist made him feel _good_. Pair it with thin lines from skinny jeans accented with a geometric pattern and he felt unstoppable. But as good as he felt and looked, he hardly spent a moment longer in his apartment.

Shoes on, he bid Mikan goodbye at the door. He crouched down to give her a pet on the head, followed by a light kiss. The deep rumble in response was instantaneous, and for a very brief moment Keiji considered staying home, for her.

Then that itch resurfaced, and he resigned himself to standing up again. Mikan would be here to greet him upon his return.

“See you later, Mikan.” And with that, Keiji slipped out the door, shoes tapping softly along the iron railed stairs as he smoothly made his way down to the street below.

===

By the time Keiji neared the corner of the plaza, another street performance had taken up residence a few feet away from the painter. It was another violinist, seeming to take advantage of the small mounting crowd and allowing it to swell. Giggles erupted in the air as children ran about, waving their miniature paintings in the air as they darted about their parents legs. A few people stood around swaying to the jovial tune of the music, the sun greeting them from behind the clouds and softening the planes of their faces.

It was a mesmerizing sight. He ached to capture the moment; music, sunlight, laughter and all, and package it in a tiny polaroid.

Instead he stood a respectable distance back, eyes drinking in each and every brushstroke of the mural. It didn’t take long for more people to draw in, forcing him inch by inch closer to the mural, and the painter.

He was laughing just as much as the children, jumping between painting the little owl caricatures and answering any curious questions.

A few people asked _Why an owl?_ To which the painter replied, simply and happily, “Why not? They’re awesome, aren’t they?” It took Keiji but a moment’s glance to make the connection between the looming horned owl splayed upon the wall and the painter. Most specifically, his hair. It really was an uncanny resemblance.

Without even realizing it, Keiji had gotten even closer, eyes now drifting from the mural to the artist himself.

This close, he could see just how sunkissed his skin was, freckles spattered across the bridge of his nose and cheek, which were awash with smears and speckles of white and blue paint. His happy voice boomed out of a broad chest set between wide shoulders, and Keiji was momentarily taken aback.

Beneath the paint and wild hair, this man was, quite frankly, beautiful. For a moment, he almost felt betrayed that he had not dared to wonder this close before.

Of course, that was the moment when everything went wrong.

With all his staring, Keiji did not notice the exuberant children playing nearby. How they tussled, shouted with shrieks and laughter, and barreled arm in arm right into his legs. And of course, the painter chose that exact moment to pick up a pot of bright, almost neon, pink paint.

Keiji proceeded to trip with no amount of his usual grace, the two kids practically pushing him forward until he crashed right into the painter. Time seemed to slow for a moment. The music ebbed, the laughter ceased. Keiji sucked in a breath, desperate and futile all at once. Then, the paint pot flipped between them, sending an arc of vibrant pink between their bodies. At the last moment, wet, paint covered hands rushed out to steady the bare flesh of his biceps.

“Whoa there!” The painter’s voice was so close, and he stared up, eyes widening with bewilderment. Huge brown, almost gold eyes, peered back at him.

Keiji choked on saliva in the shape of an apology.

“I—” He heard a rush behind him, sneakered feet thumping on dewy grass, as the two children ran away from the very pink crime scene. He gulped again. “Sorry about that…” He could feel the paint sliding down the side of his chin and seeping into the surprisingly thin fabric of his shirt. 

The music screeched to a halt around them, a final discordant note hanging in the air heavily. People were beginning to stare. Whispers were spreading. Some turned and walked away.

“Are you alright?!” The man in front of him completely ignored Keiji’s apology, concern written on his face clear as day as his unruly eyebrows knitted together, gaze imploringly honest. The grip he held on Keiji’s arms remained, holding steadfast until he seemed sure that Keiji had regained his footing.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to. It was like pins had been dipped into his skin, holding him still and tight as something thrummed deep within. It was those eyes— Those eyes so bright they seemed to glow, the painter a sun of his own making without the pesky need for the fire burning far, far above them.

“Yes I— I just tripped but I’m alright.” A weak cough rattled up his throat as he tried to take a step back. Slick fingers glided along the expanse of his arm, spreading pink down his arms, and up the back of his neck.

“Good thing I was here then! That could have been a really nasty fall.” A good natured laugh bubbled between them and he finally took his hands back, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. He rubbed one of his hands along the back of his neck, the laugh now taking a nervous edge. “Though, I’m not sure what’s worse… Falling, or getting covered in paint. I’m usually covered in paint though so I’m not a very good judge of that. I don’t think.” The heat at the back of Keiji’s neck intensified. This guy had _no_ idea.

“Thank you for catching me then. I don’t mind the paint.” He did, actually, just a little bit. For once it was real, surprisingly cold and heavy as it stuck to him. He didn’t even have to look down to know that his shirt, one of his favourites, would be trash afterwards. The paint had managed to soak through the collar, clinging to him. “I just apologize for wasting it…” He trailed off, forcing his eyes away from the other’s face. The pink was everywhere, and while he was sure most of it had been tipped upon himself, the painter’s chin and neck seemed to be blooming with it as well.

His shirt, however, only had a few splotches of the pink starting to soak through. Odd.

“You didn’t waste it!” The other continued, oblivious to Keiji’s staring him over while confusion pulled at his face. “I have lots, so really, it’s okay!” At that moment, he jumped, fluffy hair bouncing as he began to look around frantically. A distressed groan slipped out of his mouth a moment later as he lamented, “I don’t have anything to help you clean up-” Keiji opened his mouth to interject. He lived close by, it was fine, but he was barrelled over. “Oh here! I don’t need this right now and it’s clean. Er. Mostly.”

With that, he made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. A withered protest died on his lips as he saw collarbones emerge, cradled above the collar of another shirt. The button up was a smock of sorts, then. That was totally fine. Yes. The fabric was quickly pulled away, unfettered by Keiji’s iron hot gaze. It revealed a black muscle tee underneath and not for the first time that day, he felt his breath stutter and squeeze in his throat.

His arms.

 _His arms_.

Long lines of defined muscles flexed as he moved, but that wasn’t what Keiji was staring at and forgetting how to breathe over (even if it was gorgeous).

Wrapped around the man’s very impressive biceps, were two smeared handprints, identical in colour to the paint covering his wide hands. It was faded and muted beneath his tanned skin, not shiny and slick like what was undeniably reflected on Keiji’s own person.

The painter still didn’t notice his staring, too busy fumbling with the shirt to have any semblance of awareness for his surroundings it seemed. One of Keiji’s hands trailed up to his mouth, partly in shock, but partly to watch as the pink tips of his fingers bumped into his cheek, and matching spots bloomed in front of him.

In that instance, the world fell away. Keiji didn’t think he was breathing anymore.

…

…

“Here. You can use this to wipe some of the paint off. It won’t do much but maybe it can help a little— Uh. Are you okay you’re kind of… Staring?” The voice sounded far away yet far too close all at once. He swallowed harshly, the dry grit of his throat stinging.

“You.” Keiji was surprised he could speak. The shirt now dangling in the space between them snapped him back. The shock had flashed through his system, cold, scalding, empty, and full, all at once. Lightheadedness permeated the edges of his vision and he distinctly felt whiplashed. 

Funny, he hadn’t even moved an inch, but it felt like he had moved miles.

“You— You’re.” As he stuttered, Keiji realized maybe he had.

Because in that moment, all those years spent practically ignoring his soulmate, seeing it as a bland fact of life rather than a facet of himself seemed to fall away. His heart kicked into overdrive and he understood, probably for the first time ever, how _exciting_ a fated partner was supposed to be.

It wasn’t love at first site, but the tug was back, this time much stronger, and Keiji realized why.

“You’re my soulmate.”

There was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation, only sweet, sweet conviction as his heart suddenly flushed blood pounding into his ears. He felt dizzy. He felt exhilarated. He felt… Alive.

One beat of his heart shuddered through him. Then another.

And another. Then—

A loud squawk shattered the tentative bubble that had been forming around them. All at once, the sounds flooded back in. The violin, the children, the birds.

“I am?!” The painter’s voice was pitched high, reedy, and full of flabbergasted excitement. His already wide eyes grew impossibly wider and Keiji resisted the urge to laugh. He looked like a bird, feathers all ruffled and puffed. 

“Here, look.” The heavy beating of Keiji’s heart seemed to increase, growing nervous as he lifted a now shaking hand to his own arm. He dipped a finger in the paint, now warm from his body, and smeared a line down his forearm. At the end, he made a flourishing loop.

The painter watched mesmerized, eyes glittering and mouth falling into a soft ‘o’, as the matching colour bled to life on his own arm. It followed the same path that Keiji’s finger had, delayed by half a second and softened around the edges.

” _Holy shit.”_ He wheezed, sounding as winded as Keiji felt. “You’re— I’m. We’re soulmates?!” He practically squawked again, looking ten different shades of giddy as his gaze swept over Keiji. Starting from the bottom up, taking in every detail, from every drop of paint to the curling twists of his soot black hair. He felt… So exposed under that gaze, like a nerve worn raw. The heat crawling up the back of his neck only increased as the other mumbled “ _holy shit_ ” again, voice full of appraisal.

For Keiji.

“We are—” The affirmation hardly had a chance to jump from his mouth before those large arms were swooping in around him. Suddenly, Keiji was being pulled tight to that warm broad chest, feet lifting off the ground as laughter rang close to his ear.

The pink paint was smearing between them even worse now, sticking to every point their upper bodies touched, and blooming tenfold across them as a pair. 

“I’m Bokuto Koutarou! Nice to meet you, soulmate!” He squeezed tighter, and now Keiji really was lightheaded for far too many reasons to name.

Bokuto’s arms were secure and strong. His voice rattled to Keiji’s core and sank inwards, filling a gap he didn’t even know existed with liquid gold. 

“Akaashi Keiji.” His hands gripped at Bokuto’s elbows and he smiled, unseen with his head tucked over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Bokuto-san.”

* * *

Falling into step with Koutarou was the easiest thing Keiji ever did.

It didn’t happen instantaneously, but still the two became fast friends, and even faster lovers. The bond they shared, full of laughter and honey sweet kisses, went deeper than whatever fate had decided. It had pulled them together, sure, but they stuck together on their own, falling quickly and slowly all at once.

Keiji knew wholeheartedly, that soulmate or not, Koutarou was the one that made him happiest above all else.

“Keiiijiiii?” the man in question drawled, silver tufts hanging upside down from where he sprawled on Keiji’s couch. Mikan was nestled atop his chest, slowly falling asleep with a soft rumble. Koutarou was slowly becoming her favourite bed, and it was an unspoken rule in Keiji’s apartment that if Mikan sat on you, you just did not move. Neck pain be damned.

“Yes, Koutarou?” Keiji was sitting across the way in an armchair, knees tucked up to his chest and laptop resting on the small wooden table next to him. He had long since abandoned editing his recent photos, of Koutarou no less, to stare at the man himself instead.

He looked so soft like this. His usual hard and boisterous edges were dulled, melted by serene domesticity. The wide living room window was open as it always was, dark curtains pulled aside to let in the steady stream of the setting sunlight. The room was cast in gold, and for once Mikan wasn’t the only one glowing.

Koutarou’s eyes and skin seemed to burn like embers, steady and safe, but with no less heat than flames. He really was like his own sun, radiating brightness and comfort no matter where he was.

“I want to paint you!” Koutarou said decidedly, his lips tugging into a big grin that looked even more goofy flipped the wrong way. “It would be so fun!” He flopped one of his hands as he spoke, then gently rested it on the cat’s head, thumb stroking the fur slowly.

“Paint me? Like a portrait?” Keiji’s cheeks flushed faintly at the prospect, and he tilted his head in question. There was no doubt about the extent of Koutarou’s skills, and that alone was flattering. But beyond that, Keiji was embarrassed at the idea of seeing himself through Koutarou’s eyes, with all his love and adoration on full display.

“No. Well, yes. I want to do that too, if you’d let me. You would be my muse!” Keiji couldn’t help but smile at that, and Koutarou’s own grin morphed easily into something sweet. “But I mean I want to paint you, like, paint _on_ you.” He sounded sheepish.

Keiji’s face was definitely burning now. He thought of cold paint and warm hands on his bare skin, Koutarou’s joyous laugh as he turned Keiji into a masterpiece of his own making. How the paint would reflect on himself, and they’d be one. It was so much more amorous than he was expecting.

“That— You know that would just show up on you too, right?” He was flustering, and Koutarou’s grin was back full force, now crooked and teasing. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“That’s the point! It would be super cute and something only we can do together. C’monnn Keiji!” He was pleading now, brows drawn down and puppy eyes wide. Even upside down and across an entire room it tugged at Keiji’s heart and melted the embarrassed heat simmering under his skin. Damn his cute face and knowing exactly what to do to get Keiji to crack. They weren’t tied by a red string, but they might as well be with how tightly Keiji was wrapped around the other man’s finger. 

Two could play at that game, though.

“Fine—” Koutarou started to cheer but Keiji kept talking, lips twitching up in a soft smirk. “But only if you let me do your makeup. I’m thinking lipstick, too.” His head was getting lost in kiss marks—pressed to his own lips, cheeks, neck—and the idea of Koutarou’s wide eyes haloed in gold. 

At that, Koutarou shot up so fast that Mikan had to scramble for purchase on his rising chest. Blood seemed to go rushing fast, fast, fast to his head and within seconds of flailing he went tumbling to the floor, cat to the face and all.

Keiji couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

* * *

(Well, Keiji thought, maybe the impossible was possible after all.)

**Author's Note:**

> (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡
> 
> [[My Twitter](https://twitter.com/izuchi_s)]


End file.
